


The Family Business

by Redorangeyellowflickerbeat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Harold Barton's shitty parenting, M/M, Natasha is in this but has a very small role, Someone dies in a flashback I am sorry, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Werewolves, as in the show, hunter!Clint, no beta we die like men, that should be a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 11:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redorangeyellowflickerbeat/pseuds/Redorangeyellowflickerbeat
Summary: Clint had grown up a hunter. His mom got killed by some monster a long time ago and his dad had gone hunting crazy trying to get revenge. He still remembered the ‘training sessions’ that his dear old dad put him through. But now his dad had gone missing, his brother was screwing off somewhere in Europe last he had heard, and he was on his own.Well, mostly, anyway.





	1. Ashes and Bone

**Author's Note:**

> This is... this. I like it I just don't know how to explain it. Have fun!

Clint was having a… weird day. What started as a routine salt and burn turned into a rather nasty werewolf hunt, and one of his silver arrowheads had somehow gotten broken by the time he dug it out of the werewolf. He put the rest of the arrow shaft in his quiver, going to grab the gasoline from his car. Dousing the dead were, he lit a match, tossing it on. The flames burned, but he didn’t seem to care, watching for a long and weary moment before turning.

Clint had grown up a hunter. His mom got killed by some monster a long time ago and his dad had gone hunting crazy trying to get revenge. He still remembered the ‘training sessions’ that his dear old dad put him through. But now his dad had gone missing, his brother was screwing off somewhere in Europe last he had heard, and he was on his own.

Well, mostly, anyway, he thought as he returned to the car, taking a look at the redhead dozing in the passenger seat. Tasha hadn’t been with him long, but they had been friends for awhile. She was a hunter too, but on their last job, she had gotten hit with some weird witch curse she hadn’t fully recovered from yet. He wasn’t too worried about it. As he cranked the car back up, smirking to himself at the purr of the engine, he considered the other member of his unplanned hunting party.

Barnes. He was a weird guy, he passed well enough as human, but Clint knew something was up with the guy. Holy water, silver, and iron didn’t bother him though, so for the time being Clint was putting some trust in the guy. It helped that he didn’t look half bad. They’d left the guy back in the dingy motel room they had been staying in - Clint wasn’t quite comfortable enough with the guy to let him handle weapons. The research he was great at helping out with, though, so they let him stick around.

“Hey, Tash’ we’re back to the motel. Get up.” Clint hit the redhead in the shoulder, and she grumbled but woke up, getting out of the car and shuffling to the room. Clint moved to open the door, freezing when he saw Barnes there… with nothing but a tiny motel towel wrapped around his waist. His face flushed, and he turned his head away. “Get dressed, geesh Barnes.”

“Right. Sorry.” He grabbed the clothes sitting on one of the beds and hurried off to the bathroom. Clint had to look away to not get a very good glimpse of the guy’s ass… which he had to admit was pretty _fine._ Natasha shook him of that thought by brushing past him, landing on the bed with a heavy ‘thump’ and a creak of bedsprings. Clint sighed as he settled into the single chair of the room, leaning down to untie and pull off his mud and blood splattered boots.

Barnes came back in with a tshirt and jeans on, and Clint was relieved for it. He didn't need to see any more of his traveling companion. He had seen enough for a lifetime, in his mind. He stood to his feet, rolling his shoulders. With a small limp to his steps, he grabbed his extra set of clothes and headed to the cramped bathroom. Locking the door behind himself, Clint let out a breath through his nose.

Time to see the damage. He began peeling his pants off, hissing through his teeth at the pull from the dried blood. He hobbled to the crappy motel tub, swinging his leg in as he turned on the water. It wasn’t good. The skin wasn’t slashed like had hoped, deep puncture wounds causing his heart to drop to his stomach. He had been bitten. He was a liability- a danger to Natasha and Barnes and everyone else. Clint took his shower in silence, resting his head against the tile wall and letting the water running over his face hide the silent tears.

He had to leave. He couldn’t put his friends at risk. With this thought in mind, he turned the shower off, wrapping his leg in about four layers of bandages before dressing himself. When he came out, Natasha was still asleep, but Barnes was sitting where Clint had been earlier, thumbing through a book.

“Your leg okay?” Barnes’s eyes flicked up to Clint’s and he swallowed a lump in his throat, shrugging. “Need me to help you clean it? Or bandage it better?”

“I can bandage things fine on my own, Barnes!” Clint snapped, annoyed with the other man’s pestering. “It’s just a damn scratch. I’m going to buy some beer. Keep an eye on Natasha.” He walked around Barnes, who grabbed him by the arm. There was something wrong- Barnes wasn’t that strong, was he? He didn’t remember the guy being able to stop him so easily, didn’t remember that grip feeling like it could shatter his arm without much effort.

“Are you sure you’re okay? There was a lot of blood.” Barnes let go when Clint nodded, and he was even more eager to get out of the motel room. “Fine. Go. But please… call me Bucky.” Clint nodded, ticking two fingers in a salute. When he closed the door, though, he never planned on coming back. He couldn’t risk their lives, he cared too much about Natasha, about Ba-Bucky.

* * *

 

“Again!” Clint heard Harold shout from behind him, and he grit his teeth as he notched the arrow, feeling the fletching between his fingers as he placed his fingers on the string. Shifting his feet just a bit closer to shoulder width, he drew the bow back, back straightening. The fletching tickled his cheek as he stopped pulling back, making sure to keep his arm straight. Inhale, Clint told himself, aim, exhale, and release. His fingers released the bow, and he felt the sharp sting as it hit his bare arm. He’d lost permission to use his armguard after he missed the target the week before. The arrow flew and landed in the dead center of the red inner marking of the target. Bullseye. But Harold wasn’t satisfied, wouldn’t be satisfied until Clint could put a whole quiver there too, and faster. “ _You don’t have time for that fancy shit in a hunt, boy!”_ he heard, repeated in his mind from hours of training. _“What are you going to do when a werewolf comes at you with every intent to kill?!”_ the words stung, and Clint grabbed another arrow, drawing it back.

As he released, he watched the arrow embed itself in the target. It hit the yellow ring just outside the bullseye marker. It wasn’t perfect, but maybe the speed would please his father. He wasn’t so lucky, though, and Harold got up, ripping the bow from his hands and tossing it aside, dragging him back toward the house by his arm, despite his kicking and struggling. Harold dragged him over to a broom closet, forcing him in with a shove before locking him in the sudden confining darkness.

Clint screamed out in frustration, tween voice cracking as he slammed his fists on the closet door. A few minutes of this and he sank to the bottom of the closet, wheezing in his breaths. It was so small, and he was trapped, his lungs were burning - was that from the hyperventilating or was he running out of air? - and he didn’t know when Howard would let him out. What was wrong with him? He should have aimed better, he could have done better. He should have done better. Clint clenched his fists, gritting his teeth together. He would do better, from now on. His dad had already lost his mom to monsters, it was only fair he didn’t want to lose him too - that was why he was tough on him, right? It had to be.

With that decided, Clint fell silent, breaths deepening as he forced himself to calm back down. He heard Howard open the fridge, heard the clink of glass, the hiss of the beer bottle opening. He was going to be waiting for a while, he realized as the tv fizzled on.

* * *

 

Clint let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head to dispell the memory. The beer tasted stale and awful - the convenience store in the backwoods town had been pretty empty, so he could believe it had been there awhile. He didn’t care, he just needed the buzz. Needed something to distract from the burning pain in his leg, the way he could feel the infection run through his veins like fire. His eyes had been rimmed gold when he had been driving to the spot, hoping in vain that the were hadn’t been fully burned up. All he needed was a vial of blood, but there was none to be found. Only ashes and bone.

In his frustration, he let out a growl, lips curling and teeth bared. It was animalistic, instinctual, and it horrified him so much that he stopped in an instant. It was turning him fast then. Considering the proximity of the full moon, he could change that very night. He really had no chance to say goodbye then. So be it. He pulled his last silver arrow from his quiver, took off his bow, and laid both on the hood of his car. Opening the driver's side door, he grabbed a sharpie, uncapping it with his teeth and writing "Find me and kill me - CB" on a sticky not he stuck beside the bow. With that done, he started limping deeper into the woods.


	2. Silver and Red

James "Bucky" Barnes was a lot of things. An orphan, a runaway, a fighter, a hunter. A survivor. More recently, he had discovered he was a protector. A piner for things he couldn't have.

He pined most of all for Clint Barton. At first, all he had seen in the man was his rough demeanor, the darkness that made its home in the man's blue eyes. Over time, though, he had learned better. While Clint was an excellent hunter, Bucky eventually saw the man behind the mask. He was playful, caring - almost too much - and there was kindness behind the dark edges of the man's gaze. He loved coffee more than it was healthy. Bucky could muse about him for hours, but he didn't have the time.

Clint had been gone far longer than a simple beer run would take, and Bucky was starting to get worried. The hunter hadn't been himself since he and Natasha got back from killing that werewolf, and he swore he had seen a limp in the man's step when he went to shower… A curse slipped from his mouth. Clint had gotten hurt. He ran to the bathroom, snatching up the pants from the floor… and his hand turned red with the blood when he touched the bottom of the leg. He dropped it, and quickly ran for the door. Then, his gaze caught sight of the redhead in the bed. He couldn't leave her there, in case he didn't come back… he quickly scribbled a note that he would be back with Clint before leaving the motel room. Adjusting his jacket on his shoulders, he started heading for the woods. That's where his instincts would guide him if he was infected.

When he saw the car, he picked up his pace. He saw the beer bottles on the ground, the one on the hood sitting atop a note, with the bow and a single arrow just beside it. His blood ran cold. His fingers almost shook as he picked up the note, crumpling it up. Clint had to be stupid to think he or Natasha would just… kill him. He pressed a hand to the top of the hood, feeling the warmth of the engine. There was still a hint of warmth, but it was fading fast. Clint had been gone awhile, it would be hard to track him.

With that worrying thought in mind, Bucky started following what little tracks he could find. Disturbed natural pathways, a random rut in the dirt - likely caused by Clint's limp - and occasionally even a speck of blood. The path through the forest was winding to say the least, and he had no way to really find his way back out, but considering his plan was to face a newly turned werewolf down? It wasn't likely to be a concern for much longer.

* * *

Running, running. His legs ached as he scrambled through the woods, patches of briars catching his legs. His knees were scraped from sliding under a log, his lungs burning from the running. But he could still hear the people chasing him, so he kept running.

Stevie was waiting for him, at their old playhouse. He just had to get there, and they could get away. It wasn't much further. When he got to it, though, he skid to a stop. One of the guys who had been chasing him must have gone around to cut him off, because he had Stevie by the neck. The blond was struggling, but it was useless. These guys were stronger than any people he had seen before. They had some nasty looking knives, too.

"Stop!" He yelled, gaining the guy's attention. Steve looked at him with wide eyes before he was dropped. The guy turned to Bucky, and he went wide eyed when he saw the guy's eyes. Black, all over. The guy pulled his knife, and he watched in horror as he slit Steve's throat right in front of him. "NO!"  He lurched forward to try to stop the man, but there was nothing he could do. The life had faded from Stevie’s blue eyes. Before he knew what hit him, he was leaping on the guy who had killed his friend, hands glowing silver-white as he tore into the guy, black smoke pouring from his mouth and eyes. He blacked out shortly afterward, and when he woke up he was in a hospital bed, cuffed to it with both hands.

* * *

Upon arriving at a clearing, Bucky shook the memory. He had found him. Clint had fallen to his hands and knees in the forest floor. His body was arching, grimacing and groaning. Bucky dropped to his knees in front of him. Clint looked at him through bleary, pain filled - fear filled - eyes.

"I'm not going to hurt you. And I know you won't hurt me." Bucky murmured. Clint's eyes flashed from blue to lycan gold, biting his lip so hard it began to bleed. Bucky dove in, his own eyes flashing silver, and pressed a kiss to the straining hunter. A silver glow poured from Bucky's hands as he grabbed Clint, desperately, pooling around the injury in his leg and drawing out a black liquid, healing it over to mere scars.

Neither Bucky nor Clint noticed what was happening, too busy desperately clinging to one another and kissing until they were breathless. Finally, they pulled apart, and Clint sagged against Bucky, his whole body aching.

"I've got you, Clint. Nothing's gonna hurt you." He assured, softly. Clint nodded slowly into his shoulder. They would talk about the bite later, about what they needed to do. For now, holding each other, sitting on the forest floor, was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> May write more for this if I get reviews!


End file.
